Maybe our DNA

Maybe our DNA
Was not meant to match
But at one time we spoke like
Two minnows kissing the water’s edge
Rippling back and forth
Between each other’s thoughts
You built a bookshelf
Turned it over and
Left all the books on the floor
To become the bed upon
Which we slept

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snowbyrinthian

Snow-walled sidewalks
Labyrinthine twists
Body glides along
In these moments
You are closer to god than others
(Or moving further away).
Minotaur’s horned head stuck in my own heart chambers
I place my spine on her spine
My tree.
I ask her heart to beat with mine
Seated on a snow drift
“Give me some answers, please?”
Then a voice –
Is it him ?
Did I meet him on a walk one morning?
No, just men jogging.

The Purple

I.
And there she was, fresh from her tomb,
a girl with flesh eyes upon this bloom.
That gazed into a world she couldn’t understand
“Brave new people, what is this – man?”
The idea of a fallen warrior cast from God; a hero; a journeyman; a fixer; a doer; a seer.

Anything could capture her. Your knees. Your toes.
She would walk all night and not where she goes.
“Hold me into the vast,” she said.
“Let’s plunge into the deep. I’ve never experienced anything quite like when we sleep.”

And awaken, with bodies intertwined.
Hand holding hand, hand griping spine.
Out from lash undertow come blue buoys
Surfacing, then curious.

The skin is freshly cut
Grass sweet smelling furiously
Rejoicing in its own death.

“This never felt quite right and I had a right to say so.”
Who had known? Not she nor he.

The energy at any given moment is rushing into stardust saying:
“You grew worse through the ages. I saw your scars.”
“But you wanted this. You asked for it.”

A man who enjoys a woman’s pleasure more than his own is still struggling with his faulty design.
Go at once. You won’t come back again.

II.
Come ‘on baby. I’ve got two speeds. Fast and faster.
Hold on tight to my sheets or
Come weakened in the knees.
Next to you, I bleed.

“These nights don’t come for free.
For a fee, I’ll keep you with me.”

She had once wanted that. To be kept, I’m sure.
And to be healed by his righteous hand.
Never knowing how beautifully he saw her.
Locked up in snow bones spouting
“Stay warm sunshine.”

“So what does he take me as – a whore?”
Sure, but did anyone care to ask?
“How did you feel – used?”
“Sometimes.” No affliction.

How can a body love body but not mind love mind?

III.
You don’t see the sunrise as you used too.
But that’s what you wanted. To be a man. To have your brothers.
Your crazy lobe comes with the territory and the joy of never taming her wild heart.
Leave yours to beat in the spirit cage that you built with pleasure.
Made of suns and clean rings.
House code cracked
bomb a body on a body
leave the mind on a mine.

If the fates allowed could we unwind?
“I still think of the way your eyes once met time,” his hand twists torso pulling vines.
Lips peel narrow and kiss stabs sharp.
“I’m supposed to like this. This is my work of art.”

IV.
She’ll be free one day, you’ll see.
Present – not crawling.
He needs healing and has since the day he died.
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of manhood.”
Thinks those flesh eyes understood.
How body meets body and the mind is mine.

Press play for pleasure.
Perhaps she passively participated and
Became an object to be spun & won.
Who knows how many men have experienced what she’d done.

Like a Venus figure, held tight in the hand.
“I own you fleeting spirit.”
Let me wash off your sweat flakes with oil from my mouth.
Soak in the bathwater of your stain.

“Oh what I’d give to be with her in two.”

Tree

Our solitude is such a stunning past
We still solidify
I see you
On ships and on the back of all the masts
Our passing postulates
In through you

 

And once it’s come undone
The falls of all our sorrows
Become again and won
The moment of tomorrow.

 

In moments of forgetting and unlearned
We speak vicissitudes
And free you
Into the wild drought that is our breathing
It’s missing molecules
That need you

 

And once it’s come undone
We shed away our sorrows
Words we find within
Are only something borrowed.

 

I’m losing all the light that had the message
We still solidify
What we do
Moments are the makings of passing
Imagined episodes
It leaves you

 

And once it’s come undone
The slumber of such stillness
It touches what is one
Which cures our sinking illness.

 

Something opens up the shell
A miracle transforms it
Just a path
A steaming sword
That guides our light right toward it.

 

Teetering on the past tense
My lips felt numb
In subjunctive attitudes
(reclining “must’ve dones”)
Free to fall from finding
Only speaking
Will bleed through

 

The paper of this poetry
I dedicate to the tree
That gave its very soul
To be joined at once with me.

Fly the Dreams

Life in an awakened state.

Writing on marble counter-tops taken from a torn down government building, or so she said.

A cup of coffee with a little bird on it.

I’m on a bus from Binchuan to Dali. Dry mountains hold fistfuls of grapes and white buildings iced with blue paint and characters that meant something. In meditation I am riding that bus. I am listening to this song. I am sweating and taking off my backpack at the bus station. I am coming off my post-trip haze at the next bus station. It’s the journey to nirvana. I am planning what to have for dinner. I have lived inside for two hours. I have understood nothing, but I have understood everything. I hold people dear in my heart, no, actually in my bones. When I close my eyes they are here with me, as I travel through my muscles their spirit is released – because I am all of the places I have visited and all of the people I have loved. I want to fill myself with all of our stories and passions. There are feet that I don’t control that take me on this journey and I’m not sure why.

Why did I buy this mug?

I bought it because it reminded me of that one time I was high and saw the cave paintings in a Warner Hertzog documentary when I felt like I understood the evolution of human kind. How we have gained so much, but never thought about what we lost. Like the knowledge and spirituality it took to paint in these caves with human hands and horse hooves. They are our hands and hooves too. And here lies a small piece of that, something that I traded time and money for and holds my energy inside.

  1. Prehistoric archaeology and paleo fads of today.
  2. Cults vs. religion
  3. The Places You’ll Go for adults
  4. Global Collapse vs. Personal Collapse
  5. The man sitting in the shade of a pine tree across the street
  6. Acronyms vs. Om

We have entered an age where we have an understanding of the past. We have evolved far enough to understand “then” was “better” than “now.”  So now we remove developments, like wheat from our diet. Language becomes syllabic chanting.

In only a number of years – or imaginary time – all human life begins to shrink back to a single-celled organism. Actually, the “past” was the future. Parts of our bodies like the appendix are useless. Humans are shrinking.

In Brazil, a microbiologist stumbles across a GIANT virus, another and another. The names continue – Mimivirus, Mamavirus, Megavirus, another and another. How did we miss these until now?

So I search:

microbes

The virus will grow and become all that exists. A new world and the cycle will start again – perhaps it won’t end – as fatefully as the last. It doesn’t matter because all devolves ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and there is all reason it can just be recreated again as soon as it dissolves.

Dreams are pieces of that re-created world we sometimes come into contact with through our primordial junk.